It's My Life
by KatFenn
Summary: This is the story of Stringfellow Hawke and how Airwolf becomes part of his life.
1. Chapter 1

It's My Life

By Kat Fenn

The story of Stringfellow Hawke after Vietnam and getting involved with the Firm and Airwolf.

**Prologue: Flashes of Yesterday**

Stringfellow Hawke had never felt more alone. Knots of chattering high school students pushed past him as he stood in front of his locker. The cardboard box that lay at his feet was full of his possessions, and his locker was nearly empty. All that remained was a photograph of himself and Kelly, his girlfriend, and a few old exercise books. He picked up the exercise books and unceremoniously dumped them in the box. His expression softened as he plucked the photograph from the inside of the locker door. Brushing the face of her image with the tip of his forefinger, he allowed himself a smile as he carefully put the photograph on top of the exercise books and closed the flaps of the box. A feeling of melancholy settled over him as he realised that, come tomorrow, he would no longer be a high school student. He would be turning 18 in two weeks, and he had already decided that the day he turned 18 would be the day he would sign up to join his brother, St John, in Vietnam. His older brother had left for Vietnam the day he had turned 18, and that had been two long, long years ago. Shouldering his box, String shut his now-empty locker with his right elbow. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and walked out into the warm sunshine.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Dom was worried about String. He had entered the hangar with a mumbled acknowledgement, "Dom," about two hours ago. Since then he had said nothing, going straight to his locker and pulling on a pair of overalls and coming straight back to the workbench where he was, to all intents and purposes, focussed on his task of untangling the nut from the spindle assembly propeller of the Cessna that Dom was working on. Deciding that two hours was long enough for String to brood, Dom took a deep breath.

"What's eating you, String?" he asked gently.

"Nothing, Dom."

"Listen, String, I know you well enough to know that keeping your trap shut for hours on end isn't like you at all. Come on, let's grab a sandwich. I'm starving!"

String allowed himself be led off. On the one hand, he was grateful that Dom cared about him – but on the other hand he really didn't feel like talking about it. He just couldn't put into words how he felt with St John gone, fighting a war in a faraway land. He had a dream the night before of the last time he had seen his parents – and relived every last second of the horrific accident that had resulted in Dom taking responsibility for the two scared teenage boys. He had awakened in a cold sweat, tears in his ice blue eyes and an ache in his heart. Plus the fact that he would be leaving Kelly behind in two weeks. He would be off to boot camp once he had signed up, he was sure – then he would be half a world away. So once again, he would be alone.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String held Kelly in his arms. He had picked her up, and driven her, in the Santini Air jeep, to the beach, where he had told her of his plans to join up to fight. She had taken one look at the determination in his young face and hugged him tightly. String could feel her hot tears drip onto his shirt as she struggled with her emotions.

"Hey," String pulled away from her slightly and tried to look into her eyes. "It's not forever, you know. I'll be back before you know it."

Kelly lifted her head to look into his eyes. "And what if you don't make it back, String? This is a real war, where they use real bullets." She knew this day was coming, it was something they had talked about a lot when St John had left two years ago. And she knew, full well, that there was nothing she could do or say to stop him.

String's answer was to hug her more tightly to him.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String opened his eyes. The day had finally come. June 8th, 1968 – the day he turned 18. Today was the day he was going to walk into a US Army Recruiting Office and join up. Maybe this feeling, this gnawing away at his heart and insides, would go away once he was with St John. Much as he loved Dom and thought of him as a father, he still wasn't quite, well, family.

Throwing himself out of bed, String washed and dressed quickly, hoping to catch Dom before he left the tiny apartment that they shared – he felt that he needed, today of all days, a big bear hug from Dom and a whispered assurance that all would be well.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Dom felt tears prick the back of his eyes as he embraced his foster son. "_God in Heaven, please keep my boy safe_." He knew that String looked up to him and loved him, but there was nothing Dom could do or say to keep him from joining up. All he could say, past the lump in his throat, was "Ask them if they can post you to the same unit as St John, son. At least then I know my boys are together."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Kelly sat back in the passenger seat of the Jeep. She had been dreading this day for the past two weeks. String would be leaving for boot camp tomorrow – and she might never see him again. She wanted him to know how she felt about him, but the words just would not come. She felt him clasp her hand and pull her gently out of the passenger seat. He still had not said one word since he picked her up earlier on that evening, but she could feel, in every caress and unsaid word, the depth of his feeling for her.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String sat, his head in his hands. He felt numb. The bright lights of the emergency room, and the constant buzz of activity made his head ache. It had all been like a dream. The last thing he remembered was shutting the passenger door on Kelly, smiling as he gently brushed the fine beach sand from her lap. He remembered getting into the Jeep, and arranging himself carefully in the driver's seat as the combination of wet stickiness and beach sand acted like sandpaper in his most intimate places. And then…blackness. Waking up, feeling sticky blood on his face and looking over in the passenger seat to see Kelly, eyes wide open, staring into nothing. No trace of blood on her beautiful face but her pretty green dress, which he had brushed down what seemed to be minutes before, now the colour of dark wine. Him being lifted into an ambulance, next to Kelly, and trying to hold her limp hand in his.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String found himself in yet another hospital bed. Rough blankets with no sheets covered his body and scraped against the bandages which were wrapped around his right shoulder and arm. His vision moved in and out of focus as his head throbbed. Realisation hit him. "Nurse?" he croaked, in a voice he barely recognised as his own.

He tried his best to find out what had happened to St John – he remembered being ordered to leave his brother behind, on the ground. Trying to get the men clinging onto the ropes and in the cargo bay back to the base as quickly as he could so that he could go back for his brother. And then a blinding pain in his shoulder as the overladen Huey crossed over a knot of deeply entrenched VCs. Gritting his teeth as he fought being overcome by darkness. Then…blackness. Waking up to find that he had been comatose with the wounds in his shoulder and back for weeks – and no St John. The realisation that he had left his brother in enemy territory to be killed or worse, captured.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"Dom, I need your help. I'm going to move into the cabin."

"String, you've only been back a week. Hell, you haven't even been discharged from the Army, yet. Stay with me for a while – the apartment was so quiet without you." Dom didn't think that String was in any state to live by himself, just yet. His shoulder was still strapped up and his arm in a sling, and Dom had seen for himself the devastation caused by the mortar shrapnel to the muscles of String's back.

"I….I just wanna be by myself for a while, Dom. And I think the cabin's the best place."

Dom wondered if there was any way he was going to change his foster son's mind, especially when he got that determined glint in his eye. "_Perhaps he needs a dog or something to keep him company...something that doesn't mind him not talking."_


	2. Chapter 2

It's My Life

By Kat Fenn

The story of Stringfellow Hawke after Vietnam and getting involved with the Firm and Airwolf.

A/N: I've taken liberties with dates as in Episode 3 of Season 1, String says he was in hospital when Saigon fell – but I've got him leaving Vietnam in 1971.

A/N: I promise I have action lined up later on in this story, I'm still trying to set the scene!

**Chapter 2 – I'm Home **

Dominic pushed the door open, wondering what he would find behind it. The wooden door creaked open on its hinges as the faint breeze ruffled his hair.

"String? You decent?"

"Up here, Dom," came String's voice from the sleeping loft above him. "Be right down."

Dom shut the cabin door behind him. The scent of lemony wood polish was all around him, and it looked like String had started putting up a few of the possessions that he had brought with him from the apartment they once shared. "_Well at least he isn't sitting here wallowing in his sorrows_," thought Dom to himself. The last time Dom had seen the cabin was when he had brought String and St John up for a weekend's fishing before St John had left for Vietnam, but he knew that String tended to use this as his retreat once he had his 'copter licence. He remembered String disappearing for the entire weekend after St John had left, returning early on the Monday morning in time to park the chopper in the Santini Air hangar and jumping into a jeep to drive himself to school. What independence he had shown, even then.

"Coffee, Dom?" said String, breaking into his thoughts.

"Yeah, sure."

Grabbing the coffee pot off the stove where it was keeping warm, String poured out cups of the thick bitter brew for the both of them.

"Like what you've done with the place, String. Your mother would be proud." Dom sipped his coffee and looked around him appreciatively.

"Are you trying to tell me that you need me to come round and tidy the apartment? Betcha it's a pig sty by now," String quirked his eyebrow at Dom as he waited for the normal reaction from Dom at such a blatant untruth.

"Why, you little…" said Dom, catching himself as he realised that String was deliberately baiting him. He settled for ruffling the sandy brown mop in front of him. String tried to twist away, provoking an "Ow!" as the newly formed skin and newly-healed muscles over and in the injuries in his back protested.

"You OK, String?"

"Yeah. Just sometimes I forget."

"If you're hurting son, all you need to do is ask and I'll help. You don't have to do this by yourself, heck, you don't have to live here by yourself either!"

"It hasn't been easy, Dom, cleaning and polishing and fixing and carrying, but the pain's good – somehow I feel better when I'm hurting."

"You can't STILL be blaming yourself, String. St John being MIA wasn't your fault."

"How can you say that, Dom? I left him behind! Noone else IS to blame!" String's voice rose a few octaves.

"String, if you carry that around with you, it's gonna eat at your soul. I'm here for you if you want to talk about it."

"It must be me, Dom. I'm cursed." String's voice became a flat monotone.

Dom struggled with the urge to sweep his foster son up in a big bear hug (which he knew String wouldn't take too kindly to). Swallowing the lump in his throat, Dom tried a softer tone. "String, you're not cursed. You survived, didn't you? Those injuries should've killed someone else."

"That's just it, Dom. My folks, Kelly, now St John. All because of me. It's like everyone I've ever loved is dead – and I'm still alive."

"You can't think about it that way, String. Hey, I'm still here aren't I? Maybe you've survived because you know who up there has got bigger plans for you. Maybe all this is a test, or something to make you stronger?"

String didn't answer. He carried on staring at the mug of coffee he held loosely in his hands.

Dom decided to try and get String to think about something else. "So now the cabin's spic and span and in good nick, what's next?"

String took a long drag of coffee before answering. "I think I'd like to hang out here for a while. Enjoy the quiet. Play my 'cello. Go fishing. Try not to think."

"And what you gonna do the rest of the time, String? I know the GI Bill pays you plenty enough, with injury pay and all that, but I know you, if I leave you to it, I'm going to come up one day and find you drowned in your own sorrows. Besides, what you gonna do for food? You're only 21 years old, you have your whole life ahead of you," Dom tried to get String to look into his eyes.

"Well, Dom, if it makes you feel any better let's put a radio in here. So I can tell you when I'm ready to kill myself…or you," said String dryly.

"Very funny, String."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Dom patted his stomach and sighed. They had eaten a steak dinner under the stars which they had cooked on a campfire and both were lying on their sides nursing a bottle of beer each. "You know, String, it's at times like this that I understand why you like it up here."

"Yeah."

Dom sighed to himself and wondered how long it would take for String to open up to him. From past experience it would take quite a few hours while String chewed things over in his own mind, before that would translate into the spoken word. But, knowing String, it would take as long as it would.

"Dom?"

"Yeah, String?"

"I've been thinking of going back to school. Maybe that would take my mind off things a bit."

"_Ahah_," thought Dom to himself. "_A breakthrough!"_

"You thinking of going to college? Yeah, that sounds great! Any thoughts as to what you want to study?"

"Maybe engineering or physics or something like that. I love flying, and I'd love to be able to understand the nuts and bolts of the machines better. Maybe even design a new bird one day."

"Sounds good to me, String. Where do you wanna go?"

"Maybe UCLA, if I can get in?"

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**


	3. Chapter 3

It's My Life

By Kat Fenn

The story of Stringfellow Hawke after Vietnam and getting involved with the Firm and Airwolf.

**Chapter 3**

String lay back on his pillow, his arms folded behind his head. Today had been a day that he had been dreading for a while. Dreading it more than going into battle in an old, battered Huey with nothing else he could rely on other than his flying skills and quick reflexes. Today was the day Stringfellow Hawke graduated from UCLA with a Masters degree in Applied Physics. Tomorrow would be a day that Stringfellow Hawke would wake up in the morning with nothing to go to, and nothing to occupy his mind. He shivered at the thought. Deciding that a whiskey might help him get a few hours of oblivion, String pushed back the covers and padded on bare feet to the liquor cabinet in Dom's sitting room.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

He found himself back in the hot, humid jungle. Exhausted and clutching his rifle with fingers slippery with his own sweat. Heart thumping in his chest, Captain Hawke peered through the underbrush, trying to keep an eye out for the rescue chopper. His team stayed hidden in the shadows around him. Mace, blood seeping through a bandage over his left eye. Chuck, limping on an ankle he hoped was not broken. St John, bruised and battered. Vidor, Marty and Buck on their bellies for lack of cover. He hoped that the chopper would come for them before the VC troops who were pursuing them arrived. He didn't know if the injured members of his team were in any shape to go any further. String's quick ears pricked up at the sound of a chopper approaching. Almost on cue, gunfire erupted on their left flank. The Huey came into view, the waist gunner laying down a spray of bullets to provide covering fire while the chopper tried to land.

Running for the chopper, String turned to see where the other members of his team were. His right boot tripped over something soft. Turning to look, String came face to face with the bloodied face of St John.

"NOOOO!" String sat bolt upright. His skin felt cold and clammy and his throat, in contrast, hot and dry. Pushing back the covers, String exited the bed for the second time that night. Dom appeared in the doorway before he could take another step.

"String? I heard you cry out. Are you ok, son?"

"Bad dream, Dom."

"String, you're shaking! Come and sit down, I'll pour you a whiskey."

String sat down heavily on the battered sofa. He tried to take a few calming breaths, but the air didn't seem to reach his lungs, somehow. Even though he knew when he left St John on the ground that he was alive and well, he still couldn't shake the dreamed image of St John's bloodied face staring up lifelessly at him.

Dom silently handed String a glass tumbler of whiskey. String's hand shook slightly as he reached for the glass, but his breathing had slowed.

"St John?"

"Yeah."

Dom put a hand on String's shoulder. There wasn't anything else he could think of to say to String. The young man had come so far – and just when he thought he had put the past behind him, his reaction to the nightmare showed how much St John still affected him.

"I'm OK, Dom. Go back to sleep."

"Like hell you are, String. Turn on the bloody television, let's have another whiskey."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"It's a pleasure to welcome you aboard, Mr Hawke. We look forward to seeing you on Monday."

String smiled and shook hands with Mr Tate, the Chairperson of Lancashire Aeronautics, and Leland Tackworth, his new boss. Finally, he would have somewhere to go and something to occupy his mind. He had worked for the past few weeks since his graduation at Santini Air doing charters and maintenance. He was grateful for the chance to keep busy and his mind occupied. He had been hired at Lancashire Aeronautics as a Design Engineer and Test Pilot for the new stealth aircraft they were working on. It meant that he could, in theory, still live at the cabin – flying in to the Santini Air hangar in the morning and riding his motorbike to work.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

The Phantom streaked through the cloudless blue sky. String hadn't flown any aircraft bigger than the Cessna and Piper that he was certified for, but the controls didn't feel alien to him at all. The sleek black aircraft responded well to his touch, and he grinned silently to himself in his helmet. There was a lightness in his soul that he only felt when flying.

"Hawke to Lancashire Control. Stealth mode sequence on standby."

"Lancashire Control. We read you loud and clear, Hawke. Ready to initiate stealth mode sequence on my mark. Mark!"

"Sequence initiated. Countdown commencing. Going to stealth mode in 9 seconds." String took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the controls. As the bleep signalled that stealth mode had indeed been initiated, String felt the controls jump in his hands. A shudder went through the aircraft. String glanced at his gauges. The altimeter was spinning round like crazy, and he could feel his stomach drop as the plane lost altitude.

"Lancashire Control, I am declaring an emergency. Losing altitude, currently at angels thirty. Turning off stealth mode, repeat turning off stealth mode."

String continued to wrestle with his controls. The joystick remained responsive to the left and right, and the rudders still responded to his touch, but he seemed to be failing miserably at maintaining his altitude. His mind flicked quickly over all the options he had to try and maintain altitude. Cursing that his mind worked a lot quicker than the response of the controls, he tried first one thing then another. "Mayday, mayday. Lancashire Control, this is Hawke calling a mayday. Transmitting coordinates to you now."

"_One more last thing to try, then I'm hitting the ejector seat_." String flicked the fuel pump switches to the engines off and on. Mentally crossing his fingers, he then pressed the buttons for engine re-ignition. String's fingers itched to get onto the ejector seat release while he waited a few tense seconds to see if the Phantom would now respond. Just as his mental countdown clock reached 5, String felt the Phantom slowly level out. Letting out the breath he didn't know he was holding, String radioed Lancashire Control.

"Hawke to Lancashire Control. I have control of the Phantom. Returning to base."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Hawke sat on a barstool, nursing his beer. It had indeed been a long day, and the last thing he felt like doing was answering Dom's anxious questions. He thought he might have a beer or two, and after he was sure Dom would have left the hangar, crash out on the cot in the back office of Santini Air. Somehow swallowing his feelings along with the cold beer made him feel a little better.

"This seat taken?"

String turned to look at the owner of the voice. A pretty blonde stood next to him, a smile lighting up her elfin features. "Sure."

"So do you come here a lot?"

"Not really. I'm just killing some time till I'm sure my buddy's left before I go home."

"Wow, that bad, huh? What did your buddy do to you that's so bad?"

"He cares. Too much, sometimes." String gave her a wry smile.

"Bad day at the office?"

"Something like that."

"Maybe talking to me might help. My name's Tess – Tess Dixon."

"_Oh great, someone who wants me to talk_," thought String to himself. "_At least she's a pleasant distraction_." Out loud, he said, "How about a dance, Tess?" thinking that that would stop her from talking, anyway.

"Why, mister, I don't even know your name," said Tess, batting her eyelids at String.

"Stringfellow Hawke. It's nice to meet you, Tess Dixon."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**


	4. Chapter 4

It's My Life

By Kat Fenn

The story of Stringfellow Hawke after Vietnam and getting involved with the Firm and Airwolf.

**Chapter 4**

"Tess? Can we talk? I've got something important to discuss with you."

"I have news for you too, sweetheart. Why don't we meet at my apartment after work, I can be there at around 5.30? I'll order some food in for us."

"Sounds good to me. See you later. By the way….I love you."

"I love you too." The phone clicked in her ear. Tess smiled to herself. She was sure that String would be as happy as she was when he heard her news. She wondered what he had to discuss with her. He had sounded serious, but then again, he always sounded serious. Even when he was telling her that he loved her.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

The sound of keys in the front door roused Tess from her nap on the couch. "That you, sweetheart?"

String crossed the room to plant a kiss on her lips. "Hello, gorgeous."

"I must have just nodded off. I was SO tired when I got home. How was your day, String?"

"Oh, the same. The Project is complete – the bird flies like she's supposed to, and they'll be building a prototype to show to the Department of Defense."

"But that's brilliant, String! I know the hours you put in on it. Dom complained the other day that between that bird and me he's hardly seen you at all."

"Yeah. Well I met someone today who offered me a job which I'm quite tempted by. But enough about me – you said you had news?"

Tess got up and walked over to the dining room table. She picked up the little plastic object and brought it to String. Putting it in his hand, she sat down next to him on the couch and looked up shyly at him.

"You're pregnant?" said String incredulously.

"Yes, WE'RE pregnant." Tess searched String's face anxiously for a clue as to how he felt about her announcement.

String's face gave nothing away. He wasn't sure if what he felt was joy or despair. He knew that between his trust fund, the GI Bill payments, his share in Santini Air and his (rather meagre in comparison) salary, he lived a comfortable life at the cabin. But Tess had told him of her dreams of becoming rich and famous, and he was pretty sure that what he could provide for her, and this baby, wouldn't come close to what she wanted. To make things worse, the job he had been offered would definitely curtail her dreams.

Forcing a smile to his lips, String turned to Tess. He took her hands in his and tried to reassure her that he wasn't unhappy about her announcement.

"So what did you want to discuss with me, String? Was it about the dream job? Will it make us lots of money and make us rich and famous?"

"Calm down, sweetheart. One question at a time," quipped String dryly, wondering how he was going to break it to her. He felt torn in two – on the one hand he really wanted her blessing for the new job, but on the other hand he had a feeling she didn't really care about what job he did as long as he could support her dream of being rich and famous. Something that he wasn't sure he could ever do.

"Well, I met a Michael Coldsmith-Briggs III today, at a preview of the Project. And he offered me a job flying for a Government agency."

"And how's the money like, String?"

String immediately stiffened, even though he tried not to show it. "We haven't discussed money, yet."

"And you are willing to take a job that's less money? But why?"

String searched desperately for a way to explain it all to her. To try and make her understand and come round to his point of view. But could he do it to her? He had done a little checking on Michael Coldsmith-Briggs III that afternoon, and for all intents and purposes, he suspected that the job he had been offered would involve more than a little danger, and would make use of not only his flying skills, but also his army intelligence and weapons training. Could he put Tess through all that stress of worrying about him? He knew she loved him, but how much?

"OK, Tess, here's the deal." String took a deep breath and told Tess as much as he knew. He tried not to shade his tale with nuances of how he felt about taking the job, but kept it as neutral as he could. As he expected, at the end, Tess' face fell.

"What about me and the baby, String? What would we do if something happened to you?"

Trying to keep it light, String tried to reassure her. "Nothing's going to happen to me."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String let himself into Tess' apartment with the key she had given him. The apartment was strangely quiet, and as the door opened onto an empty apartment, he realised why. Rushing from room to room, he realised that the apartment was clear of any of her personal possessions. Clothes, trinkets, ornaments, the lot.

Propped up on the dining room table was a cream coloured envelope addressed to him. Picking it up, he dreaded the contents. He sat down heavily on the couch with the envelope in his hands. After staring at it for what seemed to be eternity, he took a deep breath and tore the envelope open.

String scanned through the four page letter. So she had decided to dump him. He felt as if his heart was ripped from his chest, leaving behind a hollow that throbbed painfully with every phantom beat. She had asked him not to find her or contact her IF HE LOVED HER – he could only wonder if she would keep the baby. "_Probably not_," he thought sourly, "_it'll get in the way of her becoming rich and_ _famous_. _And I thought she loved me_. _Did she really love me, or was I just a way of getting her where she wanted to be?_" He choked on the last thought. A sudden wave of anger flashed through him. "Dammit Tess!" he roared, slamming his fist into the innocent sofa back.

The curse had worked again – although she hadn't been taken away from him permanently, her request probably meant he would never see her again.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**


	5. Chapter 5

It's My Life

By Kat Fenn

The story of Stringfellow Hawke after Vietnam and getting involved with the Firm and Airwolf.

**Chapter 5**

String rubbed the back of his neck. He felt as if he had been lying in that cramped up position for seemed to be hours, although in reality it had only been an hour and a half. The butt of the Detonics Combat Master he had been issued felt strange in his hand. Although as an Army officer he had been issued with a pistol for his holster, he seldom used it, instead opting to rely on his trusty rifle. He could still hear the murmur of voices in the warehouse that housed the helicopter he was trying to steal. Under orders, of course. He had been working for the Firm for a good three months, and this was the first time he was working as a field agent. Otherwise he reported to The Admiral, often flying him from meeting to meeting or acting as a bodyguard or, as The Admiral put it, a "personal assistant with fangs."

The sound of voices faded away. Counting to ten, String readied himself to spring into action. Checking that the coast was clear, he scurried to the pilot door of the aircraft. As he suspected, it was indeed an odd-looking helicopter prototype, painted black. He wondered how long it would be before he was detected. "_Well it's now or never_," he said to himself. Putting on the radio headset, String flicked the switches that started the rotors. According to his briefing, it would take the chopper approximately twenty seconds before the rotor speed would allow him to lift off. String's quick ears heard the sound of scurrying footsteps heading towards him, over the shoop shoop of the chopper's rotor blades. Deciding that it was only a matter of time before he was caught, he decided to take a chance on the rotor speed. Pulling up on the cyclic, String almost whooped in delight as the chopper leapt into the air. Pushing the buttons to bring up the machine guns in the skids, String depressed the trigger, blowing a hole in the warehouse doors big enough for him to escape. As he suspected bullets began to pepper the sides and skids. Knowing that the windows, albeit small, were not bullet proof, String decided that returning fire would incapacitate his assailants long enough so that he could make a clean escape. Swinging the chopper round, String depressed the trigger again while continuing to swing the helicopter around in a short arc. Satisfied that the coast was, once again, clear, Swing pulled back on the cyclic and pushed the collective forward, sending the chopper he was piloting out into the dark night.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"You look tired, Hawke. Take the weekend off." The Admiral clapped a fatherly hand on String's shoulder. He was pleased with his young protégé. Stringfellow Hawke had now worked for him for three months, and every task he had set him and been done with close-to-military precision. The young man knew how to keep his mouth shut, and worked the long hours with dedication and very little complaint. Other than what was in his personnel file, The Admiral knew very little about Hawke. He knew about his brother who was MIA in Vietnam (and had been for the past nine years. A mere thirty years old, Stringfellow Hawke seemed to have a depth of character that far belied his years. A quick mind that grasped concepts and worked out logical conclusions combined with his propensity for cool headedness were traits highly prized in a field agent. Plus his military background, and his lack of family. He just wished that Stringfellow Hawke would smile more – a broody, silent agent tended to stick out like a sore thumb, as much as a loud one.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String parked his motorbike in the shadows of the Santini Air hangar. "That you, String?" said a familiar voice, as the bulky form of Dom appeared.

String closed the gap between them in two strides and pulled Dom into a big bear hug. He hadn't seen Dom in months, and he really missed his foster father. "How's it going, Dom?"

"Mamma mia, I missed you, String. I was wondering when you'd be back!"

"I missed you too." A puppy padded out from Dom's office, sniffing cautiously at String's jean-clad ankles. "So who's this little one?"

"I haven't named him yet. I thought he might be good company for you at the cabin, but I thought I'd keep him here till he grew out of the chewing stage. You like him?"

"He sure is cute. I've always wanted a dog."

"Yeah – someone who doesn't mind you not talkin'!" laughed Dom, choking back suppressed laughter.

"How about we have a beer or two, and head out to the cabin for some fishin'? Just you and me – like old times."

"Sounds good to me. Let's take the dog along – see if he likes it up there with you."

"And if he doesn't? I'm not sure I want to get attached to someone or something else again." String's tone softened as the little puppy nudged its smooth speckled head against his leg, pushing it's velvety nose against his hand.

"Awwwww, c'mon String. How could you resist a puppy that loves you that much?"

Giving in, String stooped down and picked the wriggling puppy up in his arms. The puppy began to systematically cover String's face with licks. The soft, warm body felt good in his arms. "Well, let's see how this weekend goes."

"Gimme 15 minutes to wash and change and lock up, and I'll buy you a beer."

"No, Dom, the beers are on me. C'mon, move your arse old man. I'm thirsty."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

The lake was peaceful and serene. Dom settled his new bright red cap (courtesy of String) emblazoned with the initials 'SA' for Santini Air on his bushy hair, and concentrated on letting his mind wander. String, on the other hand, seemed to have settled in for the day at his end of the boat, his worn military cap on his head and his fishing rod in his hands. The four trout they had already caught were in the bucket in the middle of the little fishing boat, next to the massive cooler box housing their day's ration of beer.

"So what you gonna call him, String?" Dom decided that he had had enough of silence for a while.

"Tet."

"As in the Tet Offensive?"

"Yeah."

"That sounds like a good name for a dog. So tell me String, what's been happening in your life? You look really tired," said Dom, changing the subject abruptly, hoping that that would catch String off guard.

"Oh, the usual. Working for a government agency is hard work."

"And what happened to Tess? I thought you two were really serious about each other."

"I don't want to talk about her, Dom." Although String was wearing his aviator glasses, Dom could see String's jaw tighten and his lips purse in what Dom called his 'sourpuss' expression.

"Are you guys not…together…anymore?" Dom mentally braced himself for String's answer. The young man had seemed to be so happy when he had introduced Dom to Tess, when they came over for dinner at Dom's insistence.

"Nope."

"What happened, String?"

"I dunno. She dumped me and took off after I told her about me taking the government job."

"I'm so sorry, String. I know you cared about her."

"Yeah, well she's gone and ancient history. Can we concentrate on our fishing?"

Dom reached out and patted the closest shoulder he could reach. To his surprise, String rested his free hand briefly over Dom's and squeezed.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**


	6. Chapter 6

It's My Life

By Kat Fenn

The story of Stringfellow Hawke after Vietnam and getting involved with the Firm and Airwolf.

**Chapter 6**

String surreptitiously tested the bonds holding his arms and upper body to the chair. Blood dripped from his nose and made his split lip sting. His right eye was almost swollen shut. His captors had been pretty rough with him. Aside from his split lip and probably broken nose, his left arm dangled uselessly in its socket – he was pretty sure that he had dislocated his shoulder again. His ribs ached when he took a deep breath, and the back of his head throbbed where they had hit him.

String turned his mind to trying to escape. He was reasonably sure that he had been betrayed. He was to meet a contact who had a computer disc full of classified information. A double agent, with information about a biological weapon being developed. To be inserted in a missile which also carried a nuclear warhead. He had approached the rendezvous point with his usual caution, but something had told him that all wasn't well. True enough, as he approached the black limousine as he was instructed, three men had jumped on him. He had grappled with them, but a blow to the back of the head had knocked him unconscious. The next thing he remembered was a bucket of icy cold water being thrown over his head. And questions and blows being hurled at him. Internalising his strength, String had fought to concentrate on keeping his mouth shut. He did wonder to himself if this is what had happened to St John when he was caught by the VC. If he was caught, that was.

String knew that his options were limited. The tracker he was wearing – in his watch – had been ripped off him at some point – he couldn't feel it on his wrist. He wasn't sure where he was as he had blacked out before being transported. All he could see was the small, dimly-lit room around him. Aside from the chair he was strapped to and a rickety wooden table, the room appeared to be unfurnished. The lone window was too small for him to fit through, and heavily barred besides. So perhaps the only way out was through the door – and through whoever it was he could get to open the door for him.

He wondered to himself if The Admiral would send anyone after him. He had it well-drilled into him that if he was ever captured, they would try to get him out – but once he had been out for 48 hours, he would be considered neutralised. String didn't know what time it was, or how many hours had elapsed since he had been taken. So the possibility that he had already been forgotten about was very real. "_Noone else to depend on, other than me_." String's jaw tightened at the realisation.

After pulling at the ropes that bound his wrists for what seemed to be hours, String discovered that they did slacken just a tiny bit. "_Ahah_!" he thought to himself. He refocused his energy into slackening the ropes just enough so he could slip his hands out of them. Eventually, he succeeded. Now all that remained was the clothesline that tied his shoulders and upper arms to the solid back of the chair. Shifting his weight forward, String discovered that, at a certain angle, he could use his dislocated shoulder to his advantage. Eventually wriggling free, String got to his feet. And almost fainted as a wave of agony shot through his body. His last thought as he blacked out was to get behind the door so that whoever opened the door next wouldn't immediately discover that he was loose.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String slowly floated back to consciousness. He could hear the sound of running feet interspersed with shouts and peppered bursts of automatic gunfire. "_Here's my chance_," he thought to himself. Pulling himself to his feet, String actively fought to keep the blackness at bay. His head spun as he considered his options. Thinking that someone would be dispatched soon to either kill him or move him, String thought best that he be prepared for him.

Hearing shouts down the corridor, String readied himself.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String opened his eyes to a blinding white ceiling. He lay against soft pillows and his head and shoulder ached like hell. He turned his head slightly to his left and right, trying to figure out where exactly he was. And came to the conclusion that he was in some sort of hospital. Closing his eyes again, he decided he was safe enough, and allowed his battered body to rest.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"Hey, kid. You OK?"

"Dom! How did you know I was here?"

"Your boss called me. He thought you could use some company."

"How long have you been sitting there?"

"Oh, on and off for the past two or three days. You've been out cold for days, I've been told."

"So where am I, Dom?"

"A hush-hush sort of hospital, from what your boss told me. For you government types."

String didn't answer. He looked at Dom and Dom was shocked to see the expression in his foster son's ice blue eyes. It was a mixture of raw anger and naked hatred, something Dom never thought he would see on String's face. Dom couldn't remember a time when String showed how angry he was – even as a boy String would often show no emotion at all – then Dom would find him crying in the depths of a dark closet somewhere. "_A tough exterior hiding a soft, sensitive soul – much like a sea urchin_," thought Dom to himself.

"Am I interrupting anything?" came a familiar voice from the doorway. String whipped his head round to stare at the newcomer, and winced as his head throbbed again.

"Sir."

"Hello, Hawke. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been hung out to dry…sir." The iron in his tone made Dom wince. The Admiral took no notice, perching himself at the end of String's bed.

"The doctors tell me you are on the mend."

"Yes, sir."

"I think if you'll excuse me, I'll go and find myself a coffee." Sensing that String had some issues to sort out with his boss, Dom tried to excuse himself.

"So, Hawke. Something tells me that you aren't exactly a happy bunny at present."

"No, sir."

"Do you want to tell me what's on your mind?"

"Sir, I don't think I can do this anymore." String's voice was flat. He kept a tight rein on his emotions, knowing that it was not a good idea to lash out at the one man whom he suspected had sent The Firm's Zebra Squad out to extricate him.

"Hawke, I know you feel betrayed by one of us. But I assure you that this sort of thing does happen in our line of work."

"Yes, sir. That's what bothers me. I thought I could trust the guy."

"Well, Hawke, you aren't exactly an experienced field operative – although I must say you have performed really well. And I am satisfied with your work. You have the makings of a fine operative. "

"Sir, don't get me wrong. I enjoyed your mentorship and I know that you've stuck your neck out for me. But I can't work not knowing who to trust. Maybe this business just isn't for me."

"I don't want to lose you, Hawke. Maybe I can get you transferred to another Division of The Firm."

"I'd really appreciate that, sir."

Dom chose that exact moment to knock on the door. "Is it OK for me to come in?"

"Ah, Mr Santini. We are just about done – I have to get back to the office. It's been a pleasure meeting you." The Admiral rose and shook Dom's hand vigorously.

As the Admiral exited, Dom was relieved to see that String no longer had that murderous look in his eyes that had startled him before. "You feelin' better, kid?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna watch some television?"

"Yeah."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String was just about to take the last mouthful of his mashed potatoes he had been given for lunch as a sharp rap sounded on his hospital room door.

"Mr Hawke, can we come in?"

String turned to look at the two white clad figures in his doorway. One looked very familiar. "Mr Coldsmith-Briggs, I believe?"

"Archangel, actually. And this is Marella. We'd like to propose something to you."

"Come in. Nice to meet you, Marella."

"Now Hawke, it goes without saying that this conversation never happened."

"Yeah, fine."

"The Admiral came to me, asking if there was a special project that I could use you on. He said that you had asked for a transfer out of his department and indicated that if he couldn't find somewhere suitable for you within The Firm that you would quit."

"That's correct."

"I'm the Deputy Director of Special Projects, and I have a project you might be interested in. One that could use your skills as a pilot and as a design engineer."

"No more field work?"

"No."

"Let me think it over. I'll let you know in a couple of days."

"I heard you're being discharged tomorrow. Come and see me in my office on Wednesday."

"I will."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"So whaddaya think about it all, Dom?"

"Well, I must be honest, String, when I saw that look in your eyes in scared me more than a little. I'm not sure I ever want to see that look again."

"Yeah. It did feel like it was ripping my guts out, to be betrayed like that. I guess I'm gonna have to learn not to trust people."

"You can't do that, String. Go through your whole life not trusting anyone. For God's sake, you're only 32."

"Ok, ok. I can trust you and I can trust Tet."

"Mamma mia, String." Changing the subject completely, Dom asked, "So String, what's this other job they're offering you?"

"They want me to get involved in the design of this new bird. I'm not sure exactly what, but it's something like the job I had before at Lancashire Aeronautics. Just more on the Q-T, I suppose."

"So what do you think of that?"

"Well…it'll be nice to be able to fly a bit more – I missed that a lot."

"Flying's always been a part of your soul, String. Maybe a job that lets you do more of what you love might work out for you. Besides, all this field work was killing you. When you ever going to find a nice girl?"

"Probably never, Dom. You and Tet are stuck with me for life." String quirked an eyebrow at Dom, and they both dissolved into laughter.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**


	7. Chapter 7

It's My Life

By Kat Fenn

The story of Stringfellow Hawke after Vietnam and getting involved with the Firm and Airwolf.

**Chapter 7 **

String leaned his tired head against the cool white tiles, letting the hot water run down his neck. It had been a long week, and a rather satisfying one. The PT session that he had just done had been a hard physical punishment, but one that he rather relished. It had been a long time since he had allowed anyone to shout at him like that. String smiled to himself at the thought.

Finally deciding that the hot water couldn't unknot his muscles any more than it had already, String grabbed a snow white towel off the hook as he turned the taps off. The team was meeting for a drink as a team building of sorts, in Archangel's office.

String grabbed a pair of well-worn jeans and a white golf shirt from his locker. Strapping his new black Brietling on his left wrist, he slipped on a comfortable pair of moccasins and slammed his locker shut.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"So tell me, Stringfellow – what is it exactly that brought you to the team?" Dr Charles Moffet leaned against the polished wood of the bar as he sipped at his gin and tonic.

"Archangel."

"Ah. Handpicked like the rest of us, then." String stiffened at the tone of Moffet's voice.

"What is it exactly are you trying to imply, Charles?"

"Dr Moffet, if you please. I have a doctorate in engineering."

"_What an arse_," thought String to himself. "Excuse me, I need to talk to Archangel."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

The tension that was apparent in the design team had been further exacerbated by Archangel's announcement on the second day they had been together. That they were planning a squadron of Airwolfs (that was the unofficial name of the project that he was working on) and that all three members of the design team would each pilot one. From what String understood, only himself and Robert (Dr Robert Winchester, to be precise) had combat experience and would probably have to train Moffet to fly combat. Although an experienced pilot, the Rhodesian had no military experience. "_Bloody jumped up colonial_," thought String to himself." _He thinks he's better than us just 'cos he's got a doctorate from Cambridge."_ Robert, on the other hand, was a few years older than String. He had also served in Vietnam, but had been honourably discharged from the Army on the basis of the wounds that he sustained in the line of duty. He walked with a heavy limp, but had claimed that he flew as well as ever. String liked him considerably more than Moffet, but was his usual cautious self about trusting anyone – even his fellow 'collaborators' on the same top secret project.

Now that the week was over, String looked forward to spending some time on his own at the cabin.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

The welcome Tet gave his master when String finally touched down on the little jetty in front of his cabin warmed String's heart. He had been bunking on Dom's sofa for the past two nights, too tired to fly himself back to the cabin. He had spent the past five days working both his mind and body hard. The team had managed to agree on basic design specs within the first three days, but were still haggling over the overall design concept. Physical training had been a part of the daily schedule since Day 1. String had pushed himself hard, feeling great satisfaction in the aches and pains he received. After all, he wasn't 18 anymore.

String grabbed his fishing pole, bucket, and loaded his cooler with a few cold beers. "C'mon, Tet." Tet followed close at his heels as String loaded up, then jumped into the little fishing boat he kept tied to the jetty. Rowing his way to the centre of the lake, String tossed his baited line into the water and settled back in his usual place in the boat, absently scratching Tet's smooth head.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"Hawke? You OK?"

String fought his way out from underneath the parachute. His left knee and elbow were a little sore from his awkward landing, but other than the bruises and scrapes on his knuckles, he was fine.

"Yeah, I'm fine." String ignored the helping hand extended towards him, and got to his feet. He couldn't believe he had had to pull the ejector button. The prototype had become very unstable as he pulled the nose up at thirty thousand feet, and as he had been wrestling with the collective, warning lights had come on and a siren had started screaming in his headset. Before he could react, the tail rotor had failed and the craft had gone into a vicious spin. Unable to control the craft, String had seen the ground rushing up to meet him. He had never had to eject from a craft in his life, and it really galled him.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"Six months of work – down the tubes. I can't believe the great Hawke couldn't hold her." Sarcasm dripped from Moffet's honeyed tones.

"YOU wouldn't be able to hold her, Moffet. The tail rotor failed, dammit. Nothing I could do about that, or control it." String fought to keep his voice steady, but he could feel himself starting to flush red with anger.

"I'm sure I would have, Hawke."

"I DON'T think so."

"Why can't you just admit you're a washed up Vietnam Vet who has no bloody business working with doctors of engineering on a attack helicopter? You're not an engineer, so if you haven't got the flying skills, what the hell are you doing here?" The last words were hurled straight at String.

String flinched. The last thing he expected was to have his Masters degree which he worked so hard for be thrown back in his face. True, it was in Applied Physics, but he was sure with his mechanical background and his basic degree in Engineering he brought a different perspective to the team. In any case, he wasn't going to take insults from Moffet. String crossed the room to Moffet in a heartbeat and had his fists bunched in Moffet's shirt. Anger gave String strength as he hefted the bigger Moffet two inches into the air and slammed him into the convenient bank of metal lockers. "I'm just as good as you are, you f%^king piece of SHIT! Don't you EVER tell me different!"

"Oh, of course, MR Hawke. That's why I'm still talking and you're screaming." Moffet smirked at String, enjoying his angry reaction. String's only answer was to drop him so he could see him scramble to his feet. Then turn his back and walk away.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Archangel tapped his chin thoughtfully. He looked carefully at the three men seated in front of him. Hawke was sporting a bruised jaw, and Moffet had a black eye. Winchester, on the other hand looked none the worse for wear other than mussed-up hair. Archangel had caught all three of them having an altercation in the locker room, not the first, he suspected. He had called all three of them into his office, like a bunch of grade school kids.

"I can't believe you three." Archangel's voice dripped ice. "I know you don't have to be best friends but I expected at least a certain professionalism from you. What I saw today was worthy of a bunch of three year olds, not three members of a high level, top secret design team." Archangel drew himself up taller. "I've decided that since I can't trust you to work together, you won't. I'm splitting the responsibilities up, so each of you know exactly WHO to blame for what. Hawke – you're the Chief Test Pilot." Archangel saw both Moffet's and Winchester's faces fall. "Moffet – you're in charge of the overall design. Winchester – you're responsible for the computer systems."

String's expression didn't change, although he felt his heart jumping for joy in his chest. So he would do what he did best – fly. And leave the design problems to the other two. He fought hard to keep smirk off his face as he heard Moffet protest. He fought even harder as Archangel put him in his place.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**


	8. Chapter 8

It's My Life

By Kat Fenn

The story of Stringfellow Hawke after Vietnam and getting involved with the Firm and Airwolf.

**Chapter 8 **

Airwolf stood in front of him. String couldn't help but reach out a hand in awe. The latest prototype had sleek lines – all the way from her snub nose into the stubby wings that held her deadly chain guns – to a beautiful sweep ending in a tail that was perfectly in proportion to the rest of her. He wasn't sure about the entire body being painted a matt black, but it did indeed look like a deadly killing machine. Especially with the armaments it was envisioned with – a missile ADF pod and chain guns. As he touched the smooth metal skin, a jolt shot through String, bringing him back to reality.

String opened his eyes. His whole body felt like one big, giant ache. His ankle was encased in white plaster – ironic, he supposed, in the face of the all-white unofficial dress code that Archangel and his aides followed – and one he carefully tried to avoid. He tried to focus his gaze on the figure silhouetted in the doorway of his hospital room – and frowned as his vision swam.

"Archangel sent me to see if you were OK."

"A bit banged up, Marella. But you can tell Archangel that I appreciate his concern."

Marella picked up the chart hanging at the foot of the bed and scanned it rapidly. "So it says here that aside from your broken ankle, there's no other damage."

"Sure doesn't feel like it."

Marella smiled. "You'll be out of here in a few days."

"So how's Airwolf Two?"

"Not fantastic, I'm afraid, Hawke. The shell still seems to be structurally sound, but the rest will have to be rebuilt."

"Well, at least she didn't go up in a ball of flames like the last time."

"Still a long way to go before she's ready for actual production, Hawke."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String struggled his way into the meeting room, moving awkwardly on crutches. He had a sour look on his face – although the ankle didn't seem to bother him an awful lot, the fact that he had had to depend on someone else to get him to and from work PLUS the fact that he would not be able to fly Airwolf until his ankle healed bothered him a whole lot more. He wasn't sure what Dom would say when he heard that he had had to bail out twice from an aircraft he felt unable to control. His brow furrowed as he eased himself down into the nearest seat, and registered a female presence in the room.

"Stringfellow Hawke, this is Dr Karen Hansen. She'll be assisting me on Airwolf's computer systems."

"Hello." String tried his best to sound at least civil. He got a shy smile in return. Dr Hansen looked to be about his age, with mousy brown hair and huge coke bottle glasses hiding large blue eyes. "_Hope she's got more brains than looks_," he thought to himself.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"Dr Hansen, I'm sorry. I think I've had enough for one day. But thank you for your help."

String raked his fingers through his sandy brown hair. Dr Hansen had spent the day going through the computer systems with him, but he had to admit, other than following wiring and circuit diagrams, he was lost. He was well aware what systems were activated with which buttons, and the capabilities of the computer systems, but the ins and outs of computer programming were definitely beyond him. He appreciated the patience Dr Hansen had showed with him, and he understood why Robert had thought so highly of her. She had an eye for detail and a brain that thought laterally through problems. "_Pity she doesn't look after herself better, she could be a really pretty thing_." String smiled to himself.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Charles Moffet yelped in triumph. He had finally managed to sort out the flaw in the design that enabled a smooth disengage of the rotors to allow the turbo to kick in – which had caused problems in the past. AND allowed stable control of the craft whilein turbo mode.So, he, Dr Charles Henry Moffet had designed a cutting-edge, deadly machine that well fulfilled its design spec of being 'a wolf in sheep's clothing'. "_So take that, Hawke and Winchester_," he crowed to himself.

Yawning and stretching, Charles got to his feet. Perhaps it was time for a celebratory drink. He saw the lights on in the office next door. "_Maybe some company for a drink would be nice_," thought Charles. Sticking his head in, he spotted Karen in the corner, her eyes glued to the computer screen and fingers tapping away at the keyboard in front of her. "How about a drink, Karen?"

"Oh, hello, Dr Moffet. No, I don't think so – I'm not quite done yet."

"Oh, come now, Karen. I feel like celebrating and I really don't want to drink alone."

Karen looked up from her computer. She couldn't remember the last time a man had invited her out for a drink. Deciding that this was the best offer she was going to get in a while, she smiled shyly at Charles. "OK, give me five minutes to shut down and grab my purse and I'll be right with you."

"Certainly. I look forward to telling you about my wonderful breakthrough."

"And maybe a game of chess afterwards?"

"Maybe…or perhaps something a little more…athletic?"

Karen smiled to herself. Either he was desperate, or just bored. She was pretty sure that Dr Charles Moffet was just like any other man – the pillow talk was often peppered with useful bits of information.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String swung himself into the back office at Santini Air. His cast was due to be taken off today, and he was hoping that Dom could drop him off at the hospital and wait for him. He had had enough of being chauffeured around in a Firm limousine, and while he longed to be on his motorbike, a trip in an open-topped Santini Air jeep might be just the thing to blow the cobwebs out of his head.

"Dom?"

"String? It's nice to see you, kid."

"Any chance of a lift to the hospital, Dom? I can't stand riding in that limo anymore."

"Will you promise to be less of a pain if I get someone to take that bloody cast off that ankle of yours?"

"Yeah, you bet." String grinned. "Meet you at the jeep?"

As String opened the passenger door of the jeep, an evil smell assaulted his nostrils. Fighting an urge to gag, String searched frantically for the source of the smell. Finally tracing the source to a cardboard box on the floor of the back seat, String awkwardly scrambled to pull it out as quickly as possible.

Holding the box at arm's length, String hobbled awkwardly into the office which Dom was just about to leave.

"Mamma mia, String, what the heck is that smell?"

"You tell me, Dom, I found this in the back seat."

"Jumping Jehoshaphat! That's the groceries I was gonna drop off at the cabin for you yesterday, but I got busy and forgot!"

"It must be baking hot in the sun, Dom. What the hell was in that box?"

"Steaks, a couple of lamb chops…and a few other bits and pieces."

"I think that's the last red meat I'm going to be going near for a while." String dropped the offending box into the black trash bag Dom proffered and turned away while Dom tied the bag up and got rid of it.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"So, Dr Winchester. What is it EXACTLY that you would like to 'teach' me?"

Robert bristled at Moffet's tone, but fought to keep his tone civil. After all, he was in an enclosed space with the man. "I thought it was a good idea for me to show you a few combat tricks – after all if each of us got an Airwolf of our own to fly I sure don't want you to be a liability on my wing."

"Your wing? Winchester, you sure have a lot of nerve. I can fly as well as you." Moffet couldn't believe that Winchester, or Hawke, for that matter, could be anything but subordinate to him.

Robert swallowed his anger. It was going to be a long, long day. Hawke would be back the next day. And then it would be HIS job, as the chief test pilot, to teach Moffet the rudiments of combat flight. So all he had to do was get through today. He sighed, wondering how exactly he was going to get through the day without strangling Moffet, and that condescending tone of his, with his bare hands.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Archangel sighed as the door shut on Moffet. The man had been angry and argumentative, and upset at the fact that Hawke was still considered as the primary test pilot on the A56-7W project. Or, as it was more commonly known, Airwolf. And he was even more upset that even Winchester, was considered more superior to him, when it came to aerial combat. Archangel debated letting Moffet go, but what if more design changes needed to be made? Or what if something happened to one of the other two – Hawke and Winchester? All the possibilities and problems whizzed around Archangel's head. "_Good God, this project seems to be more trouble than its worth_," he thought to himself. "_What the hell is wrong with those guys_? _I can't believe that they're letting their egos get in the way of something so important_!"

"Sir?" Marella's voice crackled through the intercom.

Depressing the button, Michael answered. "Yes, Marella."

"We've got a problem, sir. In the locker room. Again."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**


	9. Chapter 9

It's My Life

By Kat Fenn

The story of Stringfellow Hawke after Vietnam and getting involved with the Firm and Airwolf.

**Chapter 9**

Charles Moffet looked up from his computer screen. He was pleased with what he saw. He had been working for weeks on the final design spec. He ran his eyes over the list of outside fittings, trying to make sure that he had not forgotten anything. Archangel had told him to make the list as long and as extensive as he could - he was sure that The Committee would, on principle, cut at least one out of every ten items when they sat at their Monthly Project Meeting in two days. At least he would have something to show in terms of final design – if this was approved the shell could go into actual production. The list was a pretty long one – Airwolf would have an ADF pod linked to an inside missile compartment with a choice of different missiles, together with a total of four chain guns hidden in her wings; an external mid-air refuelling intake; retractable landing gear which could assist in a horizontal-style takeoff, bulletproof windows and windscreen, and armour plates with shielded valves so that she would be well protected. Charles wondered to himself if Winchester had finished his list as well – when they had spoken at their last Weekly Meeting yesterday, Winchester had indicated that he was having trouble trying to list and cost all the computerised systems. Charles snorted to himself. He supposed that that vixen he had working for him was a complete and utter distraction. Only a man of his calibre could balance work and play AND still perform optimally. Charles looked at his watch. He supposed he had better pack up – he didn't want to keep his date waiting.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String reached out and touched the shiny black prototype. She looked like no other helicopter he had ever flown. He was looking forward to today's test flight – and he was determined that his 'bail out' days were over. Dom had laughed his head off last weekend when String finally confessed to bailing out twice during his stint at The Firm. "So much for your clean record, eh, String?" Dom had burst out into belly laughter for a good few seconds until he realised that String wasn't laughing along with him. Softening his tone, Dom had said, "Look, kid, you can't always be perfect. You need to be able to take risks with the decisions you make, and then live with the consequences when some of those decisions don't turn out right." String had grimaced and given Dom one of his glares, before smiling at him.

"Yes, Mother Hen Santini. I can't help it if I want to live up to my own standards as a hotshot." At which Dom erupted into another gale of belly laughter.

String shook himself and tried to focus on the task at hand. He was wearing a grey one-piece flightsuit with a patch on the left shoulder. He liked the patch – it showed a snarling wolf's head cloaked in a white woolly sheep's fur. "_Very apt_," he thought wryly to himself. The one thing that he thought was missing was a belt of some description that could hold a gun – after all, wasn't this a combat aircraft?

"_Alright, hotshot, time to put your money where your mouth is_," he thought to himself. He keyed in the access code that allowed the right hand side door of Airwolf to swing open. Pulling himself into the Aircraft Commander's seat, String touched both the cyclic and collective reverently before starting his pre-flight check.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Charles Moffet keyed in the access code he had stolen from Karen Hansen. The heavy door to the computer lab slid aside noiselessly. Looking around to make sure that the video cameras were on an away sweep, he slipped into the computer lab and quickly pressed the button release to shut the door behind him.

Settling himself down at the computer console, Charles pulled a black computer disc out of the inside pocket of his jacket. Putting it into the disc drive, he quickly typed in a series of commands that would copy the programme across into Airwolf's computer, burying it deep in its various constituent parts in as many systems as he could come up with – communications, weapons, targeting….what his devious mind called a 'thinking logic bomb'. He had been working on this programme for weeks, but after yesterday's Project Meeting, he had the distinct impression that Archangel was gunning to get rid of him.

"_Come on, Charles, concentrate, Airwolf's test flight can only distract them for a certain amount of time_," he said to himself as his fingers flew over the keyboard, inputting the commands that would bury his precious programme. "_Now they'll never get rid of me_," he thought to himself in triumph. "_I'm the only one that can disarm my little programme – otherwise Airwolf will become unflyable_."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"Dom? You here?"

"Back here, String." Dom's voice floated out from underneath the Jet Ranger. Rolling himself out from underneath the body of the patriotically painted Santini Air helicopter, Dom wrapped his arms around String in a big bear hug. "Hey! It's nice to see you."

"Nice to see you, Dom."

"So what are you doing here in the middle of the day?"

"Just thought I'd spend some time with my best buddy?" String said dryly.

"Thanks, but I'm not buying. What's up with you?"

"Actually…I quit."

"Oh."

String couldn't remember the last time Dom had been at a loss for words. His foster father and best buddy was always ready with a quip or remark, and was always one to try and get in the last word, but for now, was strangely silent.

"Are you OK, String?"

"Yeah. Can I work here with you for a while?"

Dom paused for a moment. "You know, it would be nice to have a day off once in a while. Besides, it'll just be like old times, eh?" String snuck a quick look at Dom's face. It was wreathed in smiles.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Dr Moffet?"

"Who's asking?"

"Hasheem al-Nasir."

"What do you want with Dr Moffet?"

"I wanted to congratulate him on his new appointment as the chief test pilot of Airwolf."

"Oh. Well, if that's the case, take a seat Mr al-Nasir. Can I get you a drink?"

"Thank you. I don't drink though."

"So who do you represent, Mr al-Nasir?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"Well, a non-drinking Arab in a barful of drunks? Yes, you are that obvious."

"I'm Libyan, actually."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"Here."

"What's this, String?" Dom looked up from the mountain of paperwork in front of him to see String waving an envelope under his nose. His cap was askew and his wiry grey hair standing on end as he wrestled with trying to balance the books at month end.

"Think this'll help. And this," added String, putting a mug of steaming hot coffee down next to Dom's elbow.

Dom reached into the envelope and pulled out what looked like a cheque. His eyes widened as he realised what String was trying to do. "You don't have to do this, String."

"Sure I do. I'm investing some money in a company that I'm sure will pay good dividends."

"I can't take your money, String. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'm all right, really."

"If it makes you feel any better, you can make me a partner. Maybe it's time you listened to someone else for a change," String tried to hide a smile.

"Mamma mia!"

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

A/N: Thank you, fanfictionkkc for your suggestion. I will be answering it in my next chapter!

A/N: I'm setting a challenge for myself - if anyone has any suggestions as to any other loopholes to close (or questions about his past) in String's history pre-Airwolf I'd love to include them in my next chapter! Please PM me.


	10. Chapter 10

It's My Life

By Kat Fenn

The story of Stringfellow Hawke after Vietnam and getting involved with the Firm and Airwolf.

A/N: Thank you, fanfictionkkc, for the suggestion - I hope you like how I've incorporated it into my last chapter.

**Chapter 10 **

String opened his eyes to the delicious smell of pancakes cooked over a wood-fired stove. He rubbed his eyes and pushed back the covers. His tummy rumbled in expectation. He scrambled out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown.

"Hey, little brother, what's the rush?"

"I'm hungry!" String fought not to let his voice come out as a whine. He was determined that his brother would not hear him whine again, EVER, especially after he heard him talking to their dad the night before. He pushed his feet into his slippers and was just about to pull their bedroom door open when St John yanked him up into his arms and spun him around.

"Wait for me!" Swinging String onto his back, St John made his way out of their bedroom into the big, bright kitchen, where their mother stood at the stove, making pancakes.

"Morning, boys. You sleep OK?"

"Morning mom!" String ran to his mother and gave her a big hug. "When can we eat?"

"Is that all the thanks I get for making my little String-bean his favourite breakfast?" She ruffled his hair affectionately as she returned his hug.

St John rolled his eyes. "Where's dad?"

"Off to work already. What are you boys going to do today?"

"I think I'll head over to Jimmy's – he said something about a new video game – then hang out there I suppose?"

"As long as you're back for dinner St John. It's only the first day of school holidays and you don't want to be wearing out your welcome over there."

St John smiled wickedly at his mother as he grabbed two still-steaming pancakes from the stack she was keeping warm on the stove. She shook her head at him indulgently as he crammed the two pancakes in his mouth on his way back to the bedroom he shared with his younger brother.

"Mom? Do you think I can hang out with you today?"

"Sure, String. I don't have much planned, but maybe after breakfast we can play some music together… and how about helping me with the fixings for a backyard barbeque tonight?"

String grinned at the prospect of having his mother all to himself for the day. He had to admit, she was the one person that he felt understood him best. Playing music together with his mother was something he looked forward to, and often something that he didn't have time for, when school was in session. And he looked forward to spending time with her in the kitchen too – although they didn't talk much while they were working, he felt the connection between their souls – one that didn't need superfluous conversation. So different from the rough-and-tumble relationship he had with his older brother – he always felt that he couldn't share with his brother how much music meant to him. His athletic, 'I'm stronger than you' older brother, the source of all his scraps and little fights, but the sharer of his world of model airplanes and engines. String realised early on that he couldn't be totally himself with just anyone – not everyone understood the sensitive little kid who loved music BUT loved his engines and planes. His father didn't quite understand his younger son, but String knew that he loved him all the same. His mother, on the other hand – well, if String could find a girl just like her when he grew up, he would make sure that she wouldn't get away from him. Smiling to himself, String sat himself down at the breakfast bar and accepted the plate of pancakes his mother held out to him.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

The smell of pancakes and freshly-brewed coffee wafted past his nostrils.

"String?"

String opened his eyes. Dom stood, hovering over the couch, a plate holding a stack of still-steaming pancakes in one hand and a mug of hot coffee in the other. "Morning, Dom."

"Breakfast?"

"How did you know I was in the mood for pancakes?"

"Well, strangely enough, I was dreaming of your mother's pancakes last night. And thought this might be a nice way to start our day – seeing we don't have to rush down to the hangar this morning."

String rubbed his eyes before sitting up and accepting the proffered plate and mug. "Got any syrup?" He grinned up at Dom, wondering if he should tell Dom that he had more or less the same dream.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

String was perched on a stool in the Santini Air hanger, sorting through the box he had brought with him from his locker at the Firm. He figured that some of the items would come in useful, especially when he spent the night on the cot in the back office, or on Dom's couch. He could hear Dom's voice on the telephone, sewing up a deal for a charter for the week. He fingered the contents of the box. A few tools, which he put away in the big red toolbox standing in the corner. A plain grey flightsuit, a few clean undershirts and some clean socks and underwear, which he put away in the locker proudly emblazoned "S. Hawke", next to the toilets. His gaze lingered on the little Ziploc plastic bag that was all that remained in the box. He pulled the bag out and looked closely at its contents. They were little stickers with the words "Turbo" on them, in blood-red ink. He smiled as he remembered that the only cyclic stick that all three of them could agree on had a button labelled "Force Trim" which eventually Winchester re-rigged as a button to turn the turbo engines on and off. And that he was supposed to have put the stickers on the last prototype as a good luck charm against him crashing it. "_Well, that's not going to happen, I suppose_," thought String to himself. He found himself stowing the little bag at the back of his locker instead of tossing it into the bin. He smiled, thinking that he could indulge in a little sentimentality – a little more good luck wouldn't and couldn't hurt, surely?

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"I caught 'em, you clean 'em?" said String hopefully as he firmly tied up the little rowing boat on his jetty.

Dom clapped a hand onto String's thin shoulder as they both made their way up to the cabin. "You need some feeding up, kid. And while I'm sure these fish are what you're used to, I'm making some rib-sticking pasta to go with this. That's what I feel like after spending the day relaxing!"

"Fine, Dom – as long as there's no meat of any kind in the pasta."

"Alright, fusspot, c'mon, it's starting to get cold and I'm hungry!"

String slung a matey arm around Dom's shoulders as they both made their way up to the cabin.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"That was really good, Dom, thanks."

"You're washing up, though!"

"Yeah, fine." String picked up their plates and headed to the sink, where the frying pan, pasta pot and saucepan were already soaking. "Pour me another drink, willya?"

Dom carefully carried the tumblerful of bourbon to the sink, where String was elbow deep in suds. "So, kid, everything OK with you?"

String paused in the middle of washing up. He turned to Dom, looking him squarely in the eye. "Yeah. Why?"

"Nothing, just wondering. You ain't exactly the 'wear my heart on my sleeve type', you know. I mean I see you at work every day, and we talk and laugh, but we don't really say anything. Are you really happy, String?"

"Happy, Dom? I don't know if I am, really. It's weird – when I'm here or when I'm with you I can focus on the engine I'm fiddling with – or the chopper or plane I'm flying. But every once in a while I start thinking about St John, wondering how he's doing and if he's OK." At that, String turned his back to Dom, hoping to hide the tears that just sprung into his eyes.

"You can't still be guilty about that whole leaving St John behind thing, String." Dom spoke gently and softly, hoping that String would hear the concern in his voice, even though he was speaking to String's back. Dom couldn't believe that String was still blaming himself for the incident.

String pulled the plug out of the drain and wiped the sink and draining board area dry. He wiped his hands on his jeans and said to Dom, "I need a walk. Be back in a bit." Grabbing his well-worn leather flight jacket off the hook next to his front door, String strode out into the night with Tet at his heels.

Dom pursed his lips as he shook his head. He wished that he could take some of the hurt from String's heart, but he knew that the only reason why String showed him some of what he was feeling was because he trusted him. Dom sighed to himself. The least he could do was to be there for his foster son. "I'm trying my best, you hear me, Alan?" he said aloud, hoping that his best friend, long gone, could hear him. And then sent another prayer heavenward, asking God to keep String safe. He was sure that String was meant for bigger things than just being a partner in Santini Air.

**THE END **


End file.
